


Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep

by TheHeartofaStark



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: An introspective look at death, Gen, I might continue if people like it?, Kid Peter Parker, Me? Projecting onto fictional characters? I would NEVER., Precious Peter Parker, Started as a vent and now here we are, This Is Sad, This was cathartic to write, this isn't what you think it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:02:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21511948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHeartofaStark/pseuds/TheHeartofaStark
Summary: From a young age, Peter Parker had been better acquainted with death than most. One after another he said his goodbyes. More times than he could count has he grieved.This is a look into Peter's relationship with death, starting from the very beginning.
Relationships: Death & Peter Parker
Kudos: 26





	Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU CONTINUE
> 
> This work is based on an actual event that I experienced as a child. Some details have been changed, but it is heavily based on a true story. I started this as a way to express and process a lot of emotions I've kept bottled up for way too long. Please be aware that this story is not a pleasant one, as it focuses on the death of a child. You have been warned.

Peter had his first glimpse of death just shy of his sixth birthday.

There had been a girl in his kindergarten class- small, quiet, and easily frightened. Her name was Emily. "Special needs" they called her, whispering behind their hands like it was some great misfortune. The other kids called her "weird" and "stupid" and other words that Peter didn't like. Emily didn't seem to mind, though. She never did.

Peter, for one, liked Emily. Sure she was silent and spooked easily, but she had a great imagination and was really fun to play with. She even built a castle with him during free time with the big Legos once! They had defended it well with their beanie baby dragon, Puff, and all the naptime cushions in the room before Mrs. Brown told them to clean it up. They had a lot of fun that day.

None of the other kids ever bothered to play with them. It was always just Peter and Emily, but it was enough.

And then Emily stopped showing up to school. 

Nobody knew where she was- not even Mrs. Brown and she knew everything!

Peter missed Emily, he promised to show her his cool new R2D2 toy today and he knew she'd be just as excited as he was to find out it even made noises like the real R2. He decided he could show her tomorrow instead.

But she didn't come to school the next day either.

It was two days later, a Thursday, when they found out.

When Peter's mom dropped him off that day there had been a bunch of parents standing around, talking in hushed yet distressed tones. Mrs. Brown was standing with them, her eyes red and puffy, like she'd been crying a whole lot. Peter grabbed his mom's hand tighter when Mrs. Brown's eyes met his.

Something was very, very wrong.

Mrs. Brown excused herself from the group of mothers congregating in the hall and walked over to where the little boy stood next to his own mom, one small hand firmly grasping her own while the R2D2 toy hung from the other.

He had brought it to school every day that week, just in case.

"Mrs. Parker, would you mind speaking with me for a moment?" Peter had never heard his teacher sound like that before. 

Scared. And sad. 

He stood there clutching R2 with all his might while he watched his mom and teacher talk. Whatever Mrs. Brown said to his mom must have really upset her, as her hand flew to cover her mouth as her shoulders started to shake.

Was his mom crying? Why? What was his mom crying for? His mom almost never cried, and never ever like this. She turned to look at him, catching the scared look on his face before racing back over to him, kneeling down and scooping him into a firm hug.

"Oh, baby. Oh, _Peter_." He didn't get it. He didn't understand. What was going on? What were the adults talking about?

"Mama? Are you ok? Why does everyone look so sad?" Pulling away from her son, Mary put her hands on her little boy's shoulders before schooling her expression as she began to speak.

"Petey? There's been an accident, ok? A-and… Emily won't be coming back to play anymore. Do you understand?" Her voice broke as she said the girl's name, with more tears filling her eyes but not quite managing to spill over just yet.

"Why? Did she get hurt? Is she ok?" His mom bit her lower lip, quickly looking back towards his preschool teacher who looked to be on the verge of crying again before meeting his eyes once more. Peter held out his little toy robot, "Can I see her? Can I give this to her? I promised her I'd show her it."

The look of pain on her face he got in response sent another jolt of panic through him. "Mama?" She took a deep breath and cleared her throat as she looked up briefly to blink away her tears. "Peter Pie, Emily is gone. She's not coming back and you can't see her anymore. I'm so, so sorry."

He didn't understand; couldn't quite grasp the finality of that statement. How could she be gone? She was just here!

It wouldn't be until he was older that he realized what "gone" truly meant. 

Emily had been at home with a babysitter that past Sunday while her mother had gone to work. Somehow, the little girl had managed to undo the latch to the sliding back door without drawing the attention of the sitter. From what Peter had been told several years later, the babysitter had been a college student and, thinking that Emily had stayed down for her nap, spent most of the afternoon catching up on her schoolwork. 

It wasn't until hours later that she had discovered that Emily was missing. And by then it was too late. 

It had taken three days and over a thousand people to scour the streets looking for little Emily. When they found her, she had been lying barefoot on the edge of the pond behind the neighborhood, completely entangled it the weeds and overgrowth. She had drowned. 

Peter's parents hadn't let him attend the funeral. They would not make their five year old live with the imprint of a child sized coffin holding his dearest friend behind his eyelids for the rest of his life. 

(Peter still regrets that, just a bit.) 

Instead they went to the wake, met with fellow mourners all gathered for the same grim occasion. The entire affair felt stuffy and uncomfortable and _wrong_. 

At the front of the room was a picture of Emily, blown up large and put on an easel absolutely suffocated in flowers. Peter didn't like that picture. Emily wasn't smiling like she did when they were playing. It was _wrong_.

There were people all around, gathered in groups with refreshments in hand, quietly laughing and chatting as if Peter's best friend wasn't dea- wasn't gone.

_Wrong, wrong, wrong_.

Everything felt so wrong, even to young Peter, and he thought maybe it would never be right ever again. 

"You must be Peter."

He looked up at the address, curious as to who would be calling for him. In front of him stood a woman, quite plain if he were being honest, with stick straight, shoulder length blonde hair, all black attire and a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. 

Even though he had never seen her before in his life, he knew exactly who she was.

"Are you Emily's mom?"

Though her facial features pinched with pain at the question, she continued to smile. "I am. And you're the young boy that was friends with my Emily."

He nodded in acknowledgement. "Yes ma'am. Emily's my best friend."

Being so young, Peter didn't realize the blunder in his wording. But Emily's mother did, and it sent another arrow straight into her heart. She cleared her throat of its seemingly ever present lump. 

"Well, I can say with certainty that you were her best friend too. I found this in her room and, well, I thought you should have it." She held out a folded piece of paper, edges crumpled and a bit torn. The boy opened up the paper to look at its contents inside. 

It was a drawing. A little crude in places, with aqua colored grass and purple clouds in the sky, yet there was no denying what the focus of the picture was. There in the middle of the picture's abstract scenery were two figures, holding hands and smiling. It was him and Emily. 

When he blinked, the picture had gone all fuzzy and Peter found he couldn't breathe right. He was crying, hard. His parents, having stood behind him and witnessed the entire interaction, finally decided to intervene. Richard crouched down to rub his son's back while Mary approached the grieving mother in front of her. 

"I'm Mary, Mary Parker, and this is my husband Richard. I'm so, so incredibly sorry for your loss. I- I can't even imagine."

"Nor would you want to." While the words themselves could be perceived as harsh, they were not meant to be. The subliminal message was heard loud and clear. Hold him. Hold him tight and never let go. The two women conversed for a few minutes more before they found themselves gently interrupted. 

"Pete? Didn't you also have something to give her?" Richard was coaching his son, encouraging him forward to the woman whose full attention he now had. 

As bravely as the five year old could, he walked up to Emily's mother, a black gift bag stuffed with white tissue paper in his tiny hands. Holding his head up high, he thrust the gift forward. 

"This is for Emily. I want her to have it." His words caught her off guard, but she carefully took the bag from him nonetheless. She pried back the tissue just enough to see what it contained. When she realized what it was, she inhaled sharply before choking on a sob, holding the bag in one hand to wipe her eyes with the other. 

"Thank you, Peter. She would have loved it."

Nodding once more, Peter walked towards his parents who now waited for him to catch up by the doors, reaching up and grabbing his mother's hand in his when offered.

He didn't know if this feeling of wrong would stay forever, but at least now he was satisfied. He had something he needed to do, and he'd done it. 

* * *

  
And the next time he visited her grave and saw the little R2D2 figure standing proud in front of her marble headstone as if on everlasting guard duty, he felt a little less wrong than he had before. 

**Author's Note:**

> The title is derived from a poem of the same name by Mary Elizabeth Frye. Please be kind with your comments, it took a lot out of me to write this. 
> 
> This story is very close to my heart, and deals with a trajedy I experienced when I was young and never quite got over. I will not name her for the sake of her family's piece of mind, but my "Emily" did not deserve to go the way she did. I think about her still, now over a decade later, and wonder what could have been if she were alive today. The anniversary of her death just passed and it hit me extremely hard this year. And thus, this story was born. It may seem to be in poor taste to turn someone's death into a piece of fiction for a fandom, but this way I can put the story out there in a way that people can perceive without causing further harm to anyone directly connected with the incident in real life. It felt good to finally get this off my chest in some way after carrying it for so long.
> 
> Ok, ok, enough with the heavy stuff. Please drop a comment or kudos if you liked this, I may continue it and focus on the more canonical deaths if enough people are interested. It's honestly therapeutic to write about death and confront my own fear and perception of it so I do hope I can continue exploring what Death means through Peter's character. It's all up to you guys though. Let me know what you thought and thank you for reading. :)


End file.
